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Mrs. Ford. Nay, by th’ mass, that he did not; he beat him most unpitifully, methought.

Mrs. Page. I’ll have the cudgel hallow’d and hung o’er the altar; it hath done meritorious service.

Mrs. Ford. What think you? May we, with the warrant of womanhood and the witness of a good conscience, pursue him with any further revenge?

Mrs. Page. The spirit of wantonness is sure scar’d out of him. If the devil have him not in fee-simple, with fine and recovery, he will never, I think, in the way of waste, attempt us again.

Mrs. Ford. Shall we tell our husbands how we have serv’d him?

Mrs. Page. Yes, by all means; if it be but to scrape the figures out of your husband’s brains. If they can find in their hearts the poor unvirtuous fat knight shall be any further afflicted, we two will still be the ministers.

Mrs. Ford. I’ll warrant they’ll have him publicly sham’d, and methinks there would be no period to the jest, should he not be publicly sham’d.

Mrs. Page. Come, to the forge with it, then shape it. I would not have things cool.